


The Ballad of Duncan Hunter or; The Cop, the Con and the Queen

by AwayLaughing



Category: Shetland (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Missing Persons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: When two dead bodies show up on Foula, accompanied by Duncan Hunter, Jimmy Perez's life gets a little more complicated. With no witnesses and no other suspects, there is no option but to bring Duncan in for questioning. That becomes even more complicated when Duncan goes missing without a trace. With people questioning his involvement, and a storm coming in, time is of the essence and Jimmy is going to find him. No matter what it takes.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trillingstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/gifts).



> disclaimer: liberties were taken with the setting for the sake of plot, and any resemblance to real people alive or dead is entirely coincidental.

The wind that whipped the tall peaks of Foula were not any different from the ones that would be blowing on the mainland in an hour or so, but somehow they felt different. Jimmy did not consider himself a man prone to flights of fancy, but he could admit that maybe this whole scenario was getting to him a wee bit. It was really quite absurd – hunting down Duncan on Foula as the first storm of winter was rolling in.

 

“ _Kester,” Jimmy said. “What are you doing on my stoop?”_

 

“ _Jimmy,” Kester Alan said, head still down though no longer quite so close to his knees. “it’s about Duncan.”_

 

_Of course it was. There wasn’t another reason for Kester Alan to be on his stoop. “Oh? What about?” he asked which got the man to finally look up._

 

“ _You haven’t heard?” he asked._

 

“ _Like as not, since I’ve not clue why you’d be here and I just flew in from Aberdeen.”_

 

_Kester blinked, “Jimmy...Duncan’s been arrested.”_

 

_Of course he had. Jimmy pinched his nose. “What harebrained scheme has he-”_

 

“ _Jimmy, they’re saying he’s murdered someone!”_

 

“Inspector?” the school teacher at his elbow reclaimed his attention as he once again revisited the unwelcome sight of Kester Alan waiting for him on his front stoop. “I think we should turn back, it’s a walk to the car and we don’t want to be caught in that storm.”

 

She was right of course, but it was grating. Foula was not that large, and Sandy and Tosh had started looking hours before he himself, or Rhona, even touched ground and yet Duncan was nowhere to be found. They still weren’t even certain how he had escaped Sandy. Indeed, Duncan’s sudden disappearance was the least strange part about this whole incident.

 

There were, first and foremost, the two unidentified bodies, and then Duncan being found with them and covered in the blood of the newest one. There was the fact the voice mails left to him detailing these events didn’t exist, though Sandy and Tosh were swearing up and down they’d been sent. And then there were missing evidence bags, photos Tosh was certain she’d taken that weren’t in his camera. The car here had almost broken down, prompting him and his fellow searchers to comb a large swath of the island on foot, and since landing Jimmy had been seeing things from the corner of his eye.

 

It was all, in a word, frustrating.

 

“Aye,” he said. “We’ll have to wait for everyone to reconvene before we know if anyone’s found him, anyhow.”

 

Oh. And the radios didn’t work. They’d like as not been better off with two cans attached to a string, at this point.

 

“Yes,” she said, eyeing him. “Are you...friends with this man?” she asked. “Constable Wilson and DI McIntosh seemed worried about your reaction.”

 

“Duncan is my daughter’s father,” he said, “I don’t know that we’re friends, but I can’t say we aren’t, either.”

 

“ _I don’t understand,” Sandy said. “He was very adamant he’d nothing to do with either body. Why wouldn’t he just wait for you?”_

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the young woman said, “he’ll turn up. Maybe he’s waiting in town, having spotted the storm and gotten spooked. His friend with the boat is accounted for, no?”

 

“Yes, and Logan’s not likely to want to get mixed up in anything related to a homicide investigation anyway,” Jimmy said. It was, actually, surprising she’d agreed to bring him and Jerry Howl out to Foula in the first place. With two wee ones at home, Logan was less of a wild child than she’d been in her youth. Not any more civic minded, he could admit, but far less trouble.

 

As he spoke, the damn green blur that had been following him around lingered just to his left. Turning his head made it disappear, but if he stopped looking at it, it reappeared in a few seconds.

 

“Let’s head down,” he said when she didn’t answer, just stared at him obviously uncertain of what she was supposed to be doing if she wasn’t taking him to potential hidey holes. “I doubt driving in the winter rains is any more fun on Foula than the Mainland or Fair Isle.”

 

“Oh you’ve been to Fair Isle?” she asked as they turned to go back down the steep path.

 

“Born and raised there,” he said and she nodded. She looked uncomfortable, something she hadn’t before they stopped. Maybe the reality was catching up to her? He watched her twist her fingers together as they walked, eyes fixed not on her feet or the path but something in the middle distance.

 

“I thought you must be from further south,” she said, not looking at him. “Perez isn’t a common name in Shetland.” He smiled slightly at what went unsaid.

 

“And I don’t look like a Perez, hm?” he asked.

 

“No,” she said, but the peculiar look on her face never left. “Not that I mean anything...”

 

“No mind,” he said, “is something wrong?”

 

Something – guilt maybe? - flashed across her face briefly as she looked at him and shook her head. “No,” she said.

 

“ _Inspector,” a tall woman with dark hair and darker eyes approached him as he, Sandy and Tosh waited for the herders to finish pointing out likely spots for Duncan to hide._

 

“ _Yes, Miss...?”_

 

“ _Sorcha Nesbit, I’m married to Xavier, I’m the school teacher here,” she said._

 

“ _Ah, what can I do for you Mrs. Nesbit?”_

 

“ _It’s more what I can do for you, I’d like to offer to help you around,” she said, “I grew up playing all along the northern coast, I know it better than most.”_

 

“ _Sorcha,” the older of the two men who’d been outlining likely spots said. “There’s no need for that.”_

 

They must have argued about it for at least five minutes, the two men insisting the younger woman needn’t worry herself, Sorcha insisting everything was fine. She’d won, obviously, but seemed to be regretting it.

 

“Sorcha, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you want to help me look for a potential murderer so much?” he asked, watching her carefully. Not that he needed to, because his question brought her to a direct halt, and she stared hard at he ground for a moment before answering.

 

When she did, her eyes were wide but her eyebrows were drawn, making her round face the very picture of distress. It only lasted a second though, and she managed to fix a smile on her face. “Oh I’m just worrying I’ve somehow skipped somewhere obvious, though I know I haven’t,” she said. “Him being your daughter’s father and all, I imagine at least for her sake you want her found and I’m starting to feel I’ve failed you.”

 

“Ah,” he said, not believing her for a second. “Well don’t fret. Let’s get to the car.”

 

“Yes of course,” she said, and they started back down the trail.

 

To the left, the green thing stayed fixed in place.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy Perez did not consider himself a dramatic man. Neither did anyone else, for that matter, but all the same the first words out his mouth upon entering the evidence room – the dining room of their rental – was;

 

“Either something very strange is going on here, or every person I’ve spoken to since Kester bloody Alan is lying to me.”

 

Tosh and Sandy looked at him with eyes so wide he might as well have yelled at them, and it was Tosh – standing up in response, likely out of surprise – who spoke up.

 

“No no inspector,” she said, “Sandy and I at least have be totally honest- haven’t we Sandy?”

 

“Yes,” Sandy said, “about everything. Tosh left you a message while you were on the flight, I was right there, and Tosh took pictures of a set of footprints too small to be Duncan Hunter’s.”

 

“And then Duncan disappeared under your nose, the radios stopped working and Sorcha Nesbit spent our last minutes together looking like she’s stolen the last biscuit,” Jimmy said. Then he took a deep breath.

 

“Uh,” Tosh said. “Well we can’t speak to Sorcha Nesbit but mine and Sandy’s radios worked fine, we just couldn’t reach you. We thought she’d maybe took you to a dead zone or...” she trailed off.

 

Sorcha hadn’t mentioned that – she’d seemed as surprised as he had about the radio, but it was possible she didn’t know. “Aye, maybe,” he said, collapsing into a seat across from Sandy. Tosh took her seat again, still a little wide eyed. “So you found nothing?” he asked and they shook their head.

 

“Does Duncan know Foula well?” Sandy asked, “this is my first time here, but Greg seemed to think he must be, to have disappeared so quickly and so well.”

 

“It’s possible,” Jimmy said, “Duncan gets up to all sorts of things, lord knows I can’t keep track of him.”

 

Not that he tried, he wasn’t the man’s keeper.

 

Silence fell after that, Sandy going over his notes again, Tosh fiddling with her camera and both not looking at him.

 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Tosh said, finally looking up.

 

“Your pictures?” Jimmy asked, and Tosh shook her head.

 

“No – Duncan. Why’d he run, he knows you wouldn’t put him in jail without being damn certain, first. Cassie’d be heart broken, and besides. You’re friends.”

 

“No we’re not,” he said and Sandy finally looked up.

 

“You’re not?” he asked and Jimmy shook his head.

 

“No we’re...complicated,” he said and Tosh rolled her eyes.

 

“No, you’re not. You’re friends,” she said. “And I don’t think any friend of yours is capable of murder.”

 

“Anyone’s capable of murder, given the right circumstances,” Jimmy said. However... _two_ people was another thing entirely.

 

“But,” Sandy said, watching him like a hawk. Jimmy said nothing. “You don’t think he’s capable of it twice in a row, though,” Sandy said.

 

Jimmy didn’t. But he also tried very hard not to let preconceptions get in the way. As it was, this was thin ice. Rhona had been leery of letting him anywhere near this case – for Tosh’s exact reasons with the exact same response to his protests.

 

“ _He’s your friends, Jimmy. You raise a daughter together, you let him sleep on your couch when he’s hiding from his life his choices,” Rhona says. “I want you to let Sandy do as much as possible – I’ve already told him to keep an eye on you.”_

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “No, I don’t. Or maybe I just don’t want to, but I do know he needs to be found sooner than later.”

 

“It’s already too late,” Tosh said, indicating the rain hitting the windows. “There won’t be any tracking him down till after this passes over. And I’m starving,” she added.

 

“The owner said she’d be bringing food,” Sandy said. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and the woman’s head peeked through a crack in the door.

 

“Can I come in?” she asked and Jimmy waved her in. “I’ll just leave this in the kitchen and be out of your hair,” she said, heroically suppressing her obvious urge to peek at the table. “Have you a need for anything else?”

 

“No, thank you Mrs. Williamson,” Jimmy said. “Is Mrs. Nesbit well, she seemed a bit off as we returned.”

 

“As best I know, she’s fine,” the woman said, hurrying into the kitchen. From in there she said, “I’ll check in with her and can give you a ring, if you’d like though.”

 

“No that won’t be necessary,” he said. Mrs. Williamson reappeared with a nod.

 

“Right then, you need anything dears give me a ring, I live just up the road.”

 

“We will,” Sandy said, “can I walk you out?”

 

“Oh, and get all wet and muddy? Nonsense, stay nice and dry, Constable.”

 

Sandy made a few more attempts – Tosh disappeared and could be heard serving herself – and finally the older woman managed to escape, Sandy not in tow.

 

“What?” Sandy asked when she was finally gone and he caught the look on Tosh and Jimmy’s face. “Old ladies like being fussed over, and we can’t have all thirty people of Foula feeling ill disposed to us,” he said. Jimmy shook his head and gestured to his chair.

 

“Eat your stew,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy woke with a start, and for a long moment had no idea until he spotted Sorcha Nesbit lurking in the shadows near his window.

 

“What in the-” he said, but she hushed him – though he couldn’t see much he could see the whites of her eyes, indicating her eyes were wide. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice pitched much lower. All she did was point out the window. Carefully, he made his way over, and looked out. In the dark it was hard to see much – the rain had lightened but was still coming down in sheets. Indeed, just as he was about to give up and turn the lights on – he realized what she was pointing to.

 

There was a hill where there certainly hadn’t been before.

 

Sound told him she drew closer, and he stilled as she leaned in close. Idly, he noticed, she smelled quite strongly of fish.

 

“He’s in there,” she said, “you’ll have to be quick if you’re to retrieve him”

 

“Where did that come from?” he asked, “and how do you know?”

 

She shook her head drawing a hood – one that looked rather like a seal head – up. “I was never here,” she said. “If they ask for your name – or any names – don’t given them one.” She pressed something into his hands. “Wear this, don’t accept anything else from anyone and do _not_ leave the path. Not for anything!”

 

With that she slipped past him – moving too fast for him to grab her though he tried. She closed the door behind her – quiet but fast – and by the time he opened it again she was gone. Cursing under his breath, he turned his light on to look at what she’d given him. It was a cloak of sorts, woven with a pattern that made his eyes cross. Shaking his head, he looked away and set it on the foot of the bed.

 

“Sandy, Tosh,” he called, opening his door. There was no answer and he frowned. “Sandy? Tosh?”

 

Nothing. Worry shot through him and he hurried to the near bedroom – Sandy’s. Opening the door he found the Constable there, sound asleep. Gently he shook him and got no answer – but he was breathing, warm and his pulse was normal. Tosh was the same, and so quickly he went down stairs and tried the numbers Mrs. Williamson left.

 

None of them picked up. The clock told him it was a few minutes past 3AM. People being asleep wasn’t surprising, no one waking to their phone ringing was.

 

There was a hill where there hadn’t been before – where apparently Duncan was hiding or being kept – and apparently every person on Foula was fast asleep and could not be roused, except him and Sorcha Nesbit.

 

Something very strange was definitely going on here.

 

Picking up the phone again, he almost jumped when the sound that came from the receiver was an awful screeching. Wincing, and holding it away from his ear, he dialled Rhona’s number, but all that happened as the continued screeching. When after several long seconds went on with the noise and no change, he slammed the phone into place, rubbing his ear.

 

“Mobile,” he said, turning only to come up short.

 

The cloak was on the counter behind him.

 

Frowning, he reached for it and almost recoiled when it appeared to leap into his hand. Staring at it, he found himself again caught trying to discern the pattern of the embroidery. Uneasy, he set it down again. Then he picked it up again and headed for the stairs.

 

Mobile. Pants. Socks. Shoes. And then a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Nesbit.

 

* * *

 

 

Getting dressed at the very least had been as simple as it should have been, but that was all he could say for his plan. His mobile either had no reception or was subject to the rest of whatever was happening and as it turned out getting to the Nesbit’s house was proving...

 

Impossible.

 

Every step he took toward her house – or any house – got him nowhere, as if the road grew every time he moved along it. Getting back to the cottage didn’t work either – same issue – and so finally he turned toward the hill.

 

It was not any further than it had been when he exited the cottage and there right in front of him was the cloak.

 

“Didn’t I leave you on the bed?” he asked, half expecting it to answer. He was in fact half convinced he was still asleep, but attempts to wake _himself_ weren’t any more successful than waking Tosh or Sandy.

 

The cloak did not answer, which did not make this any less likely to be a fever dream. Still, there was no point to leaving it on the ground other than bloody minded stubbornness.

 

“Right then, let’s visit this hill,” he said and for lack of another idea donned the damn thing. “Maybe now you’ll stay put.”

 

Maybe he was going mad.

 

Indeed, he might very well have been going mad as getting to the hill proved to be easy as it should have been. Every time he tried to leave the path, however, it was like he was walking in place.

 

 _Do_ not _leave the path_ Sorcha Nesbit had said, but the advise seemed quite pointless.

 

As he got closer, Jimmy was honestly a little thankful for the cloak. And then he wasn’t, because if not for Mrs. Nesbit he wouldn’t be out here, unless this _was_ a dream in which case blaming anyone was pointless. Well, blaming anyone might have been pointless anyway. At the very least, the thing was warm and water proof and he needed both.

 

The approach to the hill brought more oddities – because clearly there weren’t enough – to his attention. He could hear laughter and music as he drew closer, and light appeared just over the last natural crest before the hill. It flickered and danced, throwing strange shadows to meld into the grey night. At last, he came level with the hill. It was directly to his right, and he realized with a jolt it was roughly the shape of the green apparition which had plagued him earlier.

 

“Well,” he said. It wasn’t an explanation exactly but it was a clue, if nothing else. He could see tiny people moving around near what seemed to be an entrance to the hill, and from here he could almost make out the words. They sounded Norwegian, maybe, though he wasn’t familiar enough with it to be certain. Some instinct, and maybe Sorcha Nesbit’s fearful whispers, told him it was unwise to call out to them, and so he approached them slowly and as quietly as he could.

 

Doing so brought him to a broad shallow stream, and he looked for a bridge, but found only simple stepping stones. Seeing no other option that would keep his feet dry, he went to step, only for something to catch his eye. Curious, he pulled away and after a moment the water rippled and a black-blue pony rose from the water. As it did the stone – which he could now see was distinctly wheel shaped – disappeared and he realized it was attached to the pony.

 

“I smell human and I felt a false wind, but I see nothing from here to bend,” someone said. Jimmy blinked down at the pony, uncertain and then it sniffed in his direction. “What truck does an invisible man have with the peelie?” the pony asked.

 

 _Peelie_.

 

If a headache hadn’t been threatening before, it was now. Fairy stories weren’t common in a preacher’s household, but they weren’t uncommon either and Jimmy was about as familiar with them as a grown man should be. He thought back to Sorcha Nesbit, claiming to have lived near a part of the island with no houses as a girl child, and appearing at night wearing a seal and smelling very strongly of fish.

 

_Do not eat anything_

 

_Don’t give them your name – or any names_

 

“I cannot grant entrance to those without an invitation,” the pony said, raising its distinctive tail. That jogged something in his memory, though details evaded him. If memory served, though, water horses were unpleasant as a rule and if he were offered a ride, he should decline. As he thought, he could see the pony becoming rather antsy, shifting from foot to foot. “I know you’re there,” it said again but did not sound certain. Jimmy stayed very still, waiting to see what would happen and after a moment the pony made a grumbling sound and sank back into the water. Its tail went back in place as the first stepping stone and Jimmy considered his options before finally just stepping over it. Doing so got no reaction, and Jimmy shook his head as he made his way across the rest of the stream.

 

They needed better security.

 

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he wished he had some wood to knock on. Looking around, he didn’t see and didn’t think it prudent to push his luck and so with a sigh he started down the path. This one, unlike the other, was well tended, or at least well cultivated. Moss grew between the cobbles, but never too the point of overtaking them, and in some of the wider spaces tiny white flowers grew within the moss. What he originally thought were fireflies but were actually tiny fairies of a similar quality flanked either side in abundance, the source of the flickering lamplight.

 

Several times the path branched off into footpaths, all of them pleasantly lit and bordered by rambling rose and various other flowers. Down most he caught sight of revellers, people dancing and eating. Down a few he witnessed more stern looking occasions, people saddling horses or set up around a campfire tending weapons. Once or twice, someone nearer the main path would look up as he passed, frowning and staring hard but none moved toward him or focus long and Jimmy kept his even pace. All the while, he found he was going down toward the hill and not up it, and it occurred to him that fairies were purported to live in hills.

 

Eyeing the knoll before him, he tried to gauge whether or not he’d fit and almost failed to realize he’d come to a fork in the road. This was not a case of another alluring footpath, no this was his cobble stone path splitting into two thinner paths. One was much the same as the one he was one now and seemed to start up in a gentle slope. The other was a steep path down and looked more ragged. Fewer of the lantern bearers flanked its sides and Jimmy frowned, looking between the two, and then down on the part he was on now.

 

He didn’t doubt for a moment, given the nature of fairy stories, that one of these was the wrong path. If the peelie did live in the hill, it would stand to reason that Duncan was down, not up, and the fact it was so suddenly bleak looking when everything had been so bright and happy until now probably meant something. Other than that thought, the paths gave no hint and with a sigh he turned toward the darker one.

 

Duncan had best not have been eating down one of those damn footpaths, was all he would let himself think.

 

Though it was darker and less well kept, the path down was not really any harder to traverse. The stones weren’t loose or poking up and the roots growing between them were polite enough not to push any into dangerous positions. Without the music of the parties, it was just his thoughts and the wind, the tail end of the sounds above carried on it. This path turned and circled back on itself more than the well lit one had, but it never grew harder to follow and soon even the music on the wind was gone.

 

And someone was muttering.

 

At first he wasn’t certain he’d heard anything but now he was certain, especially since no part of him was straining to hear the music on the wind. It sounded like a list, or something, and it was coming from ahead of him. Taking another bend, Jimmy stepped carefully, eyes scanning the horizon. He did not have to look very hard, in the end as the person in question was very large and very ugly.

 

He was kneeling on the path directly ahead of Jimmy, carefully trying to count something on the ground. Coming closer, he realized it was sand, and though he couldn’t understand the language precisely, he quickly got the impression the man kept losing count. He was too large to just go around, that was clear. Jimmy could, he suppose, step off the path and jump right back on. Or he could turn around and go back to bed and let Duncan rot.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, the grass nearby bent toward him and waved as if enticing him. Immediately, he rejected both ideas.

 

Suddenly, the large man looked up, giant nose sniffing audibly and tiny eyes darting around.

 

“Who’s there?” he demanded and Jimmy stiffened.

 

“The wind,” he said finally and the giant frowned, massive brows obscuring its dark eyes entirely.

 

“I see no wind,” it said.

 

“The grass is waving, the waters are rustling, what more do you need?” Jimmy asked and the thing nodded slowly.

 

“I see that,” it agreed and then bent its giant head, “go away wind. I’m counting.”

 

“509,” Jimmy said, making the thing look up again.

 

“Say what?” it asked.

 

“There are 509 grains,” he said, feeling ridiculous.

 

“How do you know?” it asked.

 

“Because I’m the wind,” Jimmy said. It did not appear to be overly bright, but for all he knew it was a genius that moved at a slow pace. If so, he hoped the pace was slow enough for Jimmy to get by. “When is the wind ever wrong?”

 

There was another ponderous nod. “I was close to that,” it said finally. “Then I forgot if I’d already counted that grain.”

 

“It happens,” Jimmy said, “now put it back.”

 

That got a blink. “What?”

 

“The pond, obviously. The sand needs to go back to the pond,” Jimmy said. The thing continued to blink for several long moments, and then started to gently sweep as much of the sand as it could in its hand.

 

“All of it?” it asked finally and Jimmy shook his head before recalling it couldn’t see him.

 

“As much as you can get,” Jimmy said. “Hurry along now.”

 

The giant thing – not big enough to be a giant proper, he didn’t think, and probably in possession of too many eyes – unfolded itself into a stand and after a moment of indecision stepped off the path and headed east. Just as it did, however, it stopped.

 

“Wind?”

 

“Yes?” Jimmy asked and it turned around.

 

“I’ve a gift, in thanks,” it said, and reached with its empty hand to a pocket. A moment later it brought out what appeared to be a larger than average seed. It was strangely reflective, a deep yellow even in the gloomy half light. “Your favourite thing to carry,” it said proudly and then held it out. Not knowing what else to do, Jimmy risked coming close enough to grab it.

 

“Thank you,” he said, “it’s a very nice seed.” The thing nodded seriously before turning back around and making its lumbering way toward what was presumably a pond.

 

As quickly as he dared, he hurried down the path, the seed clutched in his hand and not stopping until he’d taken another turn. The thing didn’t follow, and after a few tense moments he slid the seed into his own pocket and started back at a normal pace. Another few turns, and he noticed that the wind was carrying a new tune. As he continued it got louder and soon he could make out the words.

 

_Oh thence comes our wanderer_

_Who walks the winding way_

_Wither goes our wanderer_

_A child of the day?_

 

_Is this an adventurer bold_

_Come for peelie wealth untold_

_Or a lover ardent and gay_

_For song and merry play_

 

_Or do you wander proud and stern_

_Prepared at any cost_

_To brave the twists and turns_

_To find what has been lost?_

 

The tune was eerie enough, the fact it was about him was worse. For the most part that was all the singers said, punctuating it with the occasional giggle. If they were nearby, he couldn’t see them, hopefully no more than he could see them. It faded in and out as he took his turns, never getting loud and sometimes going entirely silent. Finally it was drowned out by the sound rushing water – river rapids maybe.

 

Hopefully they did not come equipped with another evil pony.

 

As the water got louder, he could hear something else under it, and frowning he came around the corner and almost ran right into a woman kneeling on it. Unlike the giant peelie, this woman was human sized, and she was huddled up on herself enough he could pass her. She was weeping however, desolate moans as she held what appeared to be a white shirt of some sort.

 

“Who’s there?” she asked, managing to stop crying enough for that.

 

“Me,” Jimmy said, sensing that his wind ploy was not going to work again.

 

“You’re the intruder,” she said peering around, “I heard the song earlier.” Jimmy wasn’t certain how to respond to that and after a moment she dashed her tears away, though more just replaced the. “You needn’t answer, I can tell.” She said. “Are you the one who stole my washing?”

 

“No,” Jimmy said and she promptly burst into tears.

 

“If I return without the washing I will be banished forever!” she said. Jimmy rather imagined it had fallen out into the water, but didn’t think it prudent point that out. “What is poor Mór to do?”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Jimmy said. “How did you lose your washing?”

 

“The river stole it,” she said with a scowl. “My mistresses favourite cloak, all I’ve left is this scrap” she held up the white fabric. It looked rather bigger than a scrap. “Oh one cannae lose the _queen’s_ best cloak!”

 

“Well, best of luck,” Jimmy said and tried to creep past her. Immediately, however, she was in the way.

 

“None may enter without permission,” she snapped, “especially not a nameless intruder!”

 

“I’m not nameless,” he said, “I simply haven’t given you a name outside of me.”

 

“Oh, and what else is there?” she asked.

 

“Myself and I,” he said and she crossed her arms, still glaring. She was, really quite pretty, if one could look past her very large, completely black eyes and her deathly pallor. “The pony said I needed an invitation.”

 

“Nuggle?” she asked, “well, yes. How did you get past him?”

 

“I stepped over him,” he said and she giggled.

 

“Oh Nuggle,” she said. “How did you get past Sròn? That nasty human had him completely stuck.”

 

“Sròn...the big fellow with the nose?” he asked, “I told him how many grains there were. Nasty human?”

 

“Oh,” she said, “that was nice of you. And yes, I don’t know the whole story, my mistress brought him here as a thank you for something, but he doesn’t appear to want to stay. She’ll let him go once she’s bored I don’t see what his fuss is about.”

 

“You don’t, do you?” he asked and she shook her head.

 

“He’d still be young once he got out, and she isn’t going to make him dance until he dies like those other fellows,” she frowned. “One managed to get something sharp and made a terrible mess on the floor,” she said and then straightened up. “But never you mind!” Then she slumped again.

 

There was a long awkward moment. “If you could get back to the court, would you take me?” he asked finally and she looked up.

 

“If you paid me,” she said and he frowned.

 

“Would you accept a cloak?” he asked.

 

“For my mistress, if it’s pretty,” she said, “but for myself, I like gold.”

 

 _Not even in Shetland do we carry gold anymore,_ he almost said and then something occurred to him. Against his better judgement he took off his cloak. The fairy blinked at him, and then frowned.

 

“I was hoping you’d be better looking,” she said, “oh well.” She held out her hands expectantly and he offered her the cloak. She studied it carefully before finally nodding. She shoved the white cloak at him, “you can have this, if you get cold. And me?” she asked. Wordlessly he took the seed from his pocket and offered it to her. She studied this as closely as she did the cloak and then nodded again. “Fine, Me Myself and I,” she said, “to the court we go.”

 

With that he followed after her. She never looked back at him, but she didn’t move overly quickly and stayed on the path. They crossed a high bridge, the far end illuminated by lanterns. These were, insofar as he could tell, larger versions of the tiny ones on the upper path. Two very tall thin creatures in blank masks were holding them, and they made no indication they even noticed the two entering.

 

“They let you in because you’re with me,” she said, nodding to someone as they finally entered the hill. Immediately inside were dozens of people in bright clothing. They lounged on chairs and branches, talking and drinking much like the one outside. They quieted as he passed, but his guide paid them no mind, head held high. Behind them, whispers followed them and several of the people – fairies? Peelie? – followed after them. By the time they came to two grand golden doors and a dour looking creature that appeared to be mostly moustache.

 

“Mór,” he said, “you return.”

 

“Mór returns,” she said, voice carrying over the crowd. “I have a new cloak for the queen and the human comes with a petition.”

 

The door guard nodded and turned and opened the doors. As they were probably five times his height, it seemed quite the feet but he appeared to have no trouble.

 

“Mór,” he cried as the doors opened, “and...” he turned back to Jimmy.

 

“Me myself and I,” he said.

 

“Me myself and I,” he repeated, “a human.”

 

Immediately the room went silent, save for one peel of rich laughter. “Ah, the wanderer appears at last,” the woman at the top of a dais said. She was stunning, Jimmy noticed in an almost detached way. Long black hair was piled high and hung in flawless curls. Even from this far he could see the bright red of her lipstick against her nearly golden skin, and her eyes seemed to burn with some light. “Well, come in wanderer,” she said and he did barely noticing where he stepped.

 

Because to her left was Duncan. He appeared to be asleep, slumped in a chair that looked like a throne that had the top sawed off. He was unhurt, or at least less bloody than Tosh and Sandy had described. The queen caught his eye as he looked away and smirked – almost a challenge.

 

As he walked up to her, the people around them parted. Some where as near-human as herself and Mór, some had no faces, overs had only one eye or looked to be part animal. Some were tiny, some loomed tall and thin as a piece of twine. None of them stayed in his way and he came to a stop at the foot of the steps when Mór pressed a hand to his elbow.

 

“My lady,” she said with a curtsy, “I come with a gift.”

 

“A gift, when all I did was send you to get blood from my cloak?” the queen asked. Her voice, against odds, sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. Mór nodded, holding the cloak up.

 

In the firelight the embroidery and its unsettling pattern absolutely danced. Several of the peelie nearby gasped and leaned forward, and the queen cocked her head. “Bring it here,” she said and Mór did so. The queen looked it over much the same way Mór herself had.

 

“Beautiful,” she said finally, “I accept. How did our nameless guest entreat you to bring him here, though? Surely you don’t expect to share a cloak with your queen?”

 

“No no your highness,” she said, “he gave me a gold piece.” She held up the seed, and the nearest peelie – a spindly creature whos fingers were black which faded to blue-white somewhere around its elbow and who had teeth like a shark – laughed. The queen gave an answering, bright laugh.

 

 _That_ made him realize she had been the singer on the road. 

 

“That is a seed from Sròn’s garden,” it said, jeering and Mór gave it a venomous glare.

 

“It’d a piece, and it’s gold, and when it’s no longer golden it will be a new gift entirely,” she said, tossing her hair. “Mór is no fool thought can the same be said for Tiopal?”

 

The spindly one, presumably being Tiopal, snarled but the queen held up her hand. “The gift was accepted and the trade completed,” she said, “that Mór is pleased is merely a benefit. All’s the pity for our wanderer, though. I sense he did not bring another seed, and if he did, it would not be enough for that which he seeks.” She looked over to Duncan. “I very rarely give up what’s mine, wanderer.”

 

“I’m not here for anything of yours,” he said. She raised an eyebrow.

 

“No? Aren’t you here for him, and isn’t he mine?”

 

“Yes I am, but no,” he said, “he’s not.”

 

“Then whose is he?” she asked.

 

 _Nobody’s_ , was the instinctive answer but sober second thought told him that was the very wrong answer. Queens – and kings – from what little he recalled from history, tended to take anything that didn’t have a specific claim on it as meaning open season. “Mine,” he said finally and there was a rise of titillated whispers around and behind him. Mór looked down at him in surprise, and then over at Duncan as if doing calculations.

 

“Yours?” she said, “then why shouldn’t I just keep you, too? Unless you belong to someone, too?”

 

“Him, obviously,” he said. She hummed.

 

“Well that does complicate things,” she said finally. “You see, your hunter has done me a service, by taking blame for my crime. I must pay him back, and eternal youth seems most fitting where otherwise his life would flitter away, trapped behind cold iron.”

 

“I think he’d settle for freedom,” he said, “he’s too old for eternal youth, anyway.”

 

She laughed at that. “Oh you’re not as boring as you look,” she said, “how about a deal. You can have whats yours, if I can have what’s mine.” She smiled at him, showing entirely too many teeth. “Sound fair?”

 

“That depends,” he said, fingers going to his belt, wondering. “Are you going to give him his boon?”

 

She waved a golden hand, and as the light flashed over them her fingers seemed to morph into talons. “Yes yes, freedom,” she said. “Do we have a deal?”

 

“If I give you something of yours, you give me him?” he asked.

 

“If you _return_ me something of mine you already have,” she said, “seeing as I’m returning something to you.”

 

“I do that, and we return home?” he said.

 

“Isn’t that what I said?” she asked and he raised his own eyebrow.

 

“Not in so many words, your highness.”

 

She stared down him for a moment. “Fine. If you return something of mine to my, I will return your hunter to you, and you will both go home, free,” she said. “Specific enough for you?”

 

It was, he suspected, the best he was going to get and so with a firm nod, he unhooked the white cloak from his belt and held it up. Immediately, the room went quiet and the queen actually stood up – a move of surprise so like Tosh’s he could have laughed. Jimmy took the chance to study the cloak he’d replaced. It too was quite mesmerizing, with that same unsettling quality, but there was a hole where, presumably, the blood and been. No wonder Mór had been upset.

 

“Your cloak,” he said, “ _without_ the blood.”

 

For a moment, no one said anything and then the queen clapped. Immediately Duncan jerked awake and looked around wild eyed.

 

“Ji-” he started and Jimmy quickly spoke over him.

 

“Not a word,” he said firmly.

 

“But I-”

 

“No!”

 

The queen prodded Mór and the peerie hurried down the stairs, taking the cloak from Jimmy with a look he thought was almost rueful. Once the queen had it in hand, she sat back down. “Well, wanderer,” she said, with a nod that almost looked like a very tiny bow, “you get your hunter after all.” She waved her hand at Duncan. “Go along, I am only as good as my word, and my words are good indeed,” she said.

 

Duncan apparently didn’t need to be told twice, hurrying down to Jimmy with wide eyes. “Ji-”

 

“No names,” Jimmy hissed, “just be quiet until we get out of here, okay?”

 

Duncan shot him a harried look, but nodded all the same. The queen looked at them, assessing and Jimmy, feeling a bit like he had to, took Duncan’s arm. The queen’s smile twitched at that and she nodded again, this time as if to herself. “Just one thing,” she said, “do you know who made this cloak?”

 

She held up the blue one. Jimmy shrugged.

 

“I couldn’t say,” he said and she smiled again.

 

“Of course you couldn’t. Go then, home and free,” she said, and snapped her fingers.

 

Promptly, everything went black.

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy jerked awake and for a moment looked around, wild eyed. He was back in his room in the cottage, he noticed, and then almost jumped out of his skin when he looked over and saw an equally wide eyed Duncan next to him.

 

“I didnae kill anyone!” were the first words out of Duncan’s mouth and Jimmy scowled at him.

 

“I know that, you daft creature,” he said, “how in the name of the nine Hells did you end up as the fall guy for a peerie queen, aye?”

 

“I’ve no clue,” he said, “Jerry dragged me over here to look at some rare bird or something and I stumbled upon the bodies. One was still bleeding, so I tried to see if they were alive – next thing I know your Constable is there accusing me of murder!” he said. “Then, he’s taking me back to his car, I trip crossing a wee stream and suddenly, I’m where you found me. I was a victim in this, I tell you.”

 

Jimmy stared at him with narrow eyes for a long moment. “Are you telling me, all of this happened because Jerry Howl is a secret bird watcher?”

 

“Or whales, or something I don’t remember,” Duncan said and after a moment Jimmy snorted.

 

“Of course you don't,” he said, collapsing back. Only then did he realize the time.

 

_3:07_

 

Then he jerked again.

 

“What?” Duncan asked.

 

“I left here are 3:06,” Jimmy said. “ _Hours_ ago.” For a long moment, Duncan stared at him, and then at the clock. Then he looked out the window – where it was still raining.

 

“I’m going back to sleep,” he said.

 

“Aye,” Jimmy said, collapsing back. “We’ll have to think of what to say to Tosh and Sandy.”

 

“Oh lord,” Duncan said and rolled over.

 

“And take your shoes off,” Jimmy said.

 

“You take your shoes off,” Duncan shot back, but did as he was told. Jimmy, for reasons of his own comfort, did as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Morning came with a rap on the door, and then Mrs. Williamson sticking her head in. “Morning boys,” she said, startling Duncan right out of bed and onto the floor. “Oh are you alright love?” she asked and Duncan nodded looking a little out of sorts. “I see why you were so desperate to find him, inspector,” she said to Jimmy with a wink.

 

Jimmy considered refuting it – but then sighed. “Aye,” he said, “did you need something?”

 

“What? Oh no, I left two little breakfasts to go for you, you said to wake you when the first ferry back was ready, if you weren’t up.” She looked between the two of them, “you both still look knackered. Not used to climbing cliffs?”

 

“Not so much, no,” Jimmy said.

 

“Well, all’s well that ends well. A Constable Wilson called for you, by the by, wanted to know if you’d found Mr. Hunter, and your daughter called too. I take it you couldn’t get a hold of anyone last night?”

 

“No,” he said, “Sandy called?”

 

“Would that be the Constable?” she asked and he nodded. “Yes, he was hoping you’d be returning to Lerwick today, I told him you would.”

 

“Oh,” Jimmy said, “thank you.”

 

“Not a problem dear,” she said, “ring me if you need anything before you go!”

 

“Of course,” he said and didn’t move until he heard the front door closed.

 

“Wasn’t Sandy here?” he asked.

 

“Yes, the next room over,” Jimmy said.

 

“And she didnae seem concerned about me being a murder suspect,” Duncan said.

 

“Well, I did barter for your freedom,” Jimmy said.

 

“Ah,” Duncan said and they lapsed into silence. “Why?” he asked finally.

 

“Why what?”

 

“Why not just barter to get me out of there and prove I hadn’t done it?” he asked.

 

“Oh, how am I supposed to prove that the actual murderer is a peerie queen?” Jimmy asked. Duncan shrugged. They fell into silence again before Jimmy stood. “Come on, we might as well dress and head to the ferry,” he said. Duncan nodded and they proceeded to get ready in silence. It was only once they were packed – Duncan’s away bag having appeared in the far corner next to Jimmy’s at some point – that the silence was broken.

 

“Jimmy?”

 

“Yes Duncan?”

 

The other man was staring at him, dark eyes nearly inscrutable. “I know you did most of this for Cassie,” he said, “but thank you all the same.”

 

Jimmy frowned slightly. He’d thought of Cassie very little, actually. Well no, he’d been plenty worried about her reaction to everything, but to say he’d done it for her? “No,” he said, “I did it for you.”

 

Duncan blinked. “Right, then,” he said. “Right?”

 

“Right,” Jimmy said.

 

* * *

 

 

As the ferry pulled away from the harbour, Jimmy and Duncan found themselves staring back at Foula. While it’s cliffs were mostly on the other side of the island, they still rose from the sea like natural towers draped in yellow-green. “It’s a lovely island,” Duncan said.

 

“Hm, and Sandy’s still never been, I suppose,” Jimmy said. Duncan just nodded and they admired the view for a few seconds before Duncan nudged him.

 

“Is it just me, Jim, or is that seal waving at us?” he gestured to one on a rock just at the mouth of the harbour and Jimmy squinted, before smiling a tiny bit and waving back. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Duncan said.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> First off, happy holidays! I will preemptively apologize for the somewhat rough nature of this, my beta was out of commission. Still, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> So this fic was supposed to be a little more explitly pairing focused, but ended up so that _if you so choose_ , Duncan and Jimmy just being very close friends who've had a harrowing evening is as valid as this being pre-romance stuff. 
> 
> It doesn't really take place in a time specific to the series, obviously it's after Sandy gets his little promotion, but I didn't try and it fit it anywhere outside of that, so you can place it where ever fits best for you (the reader) or in an entirely AU timeline.
> 
> For trillingstar specifically: I was caught by your mentions of liking magical/supernatural stuff, and hope this is enough of those for you! I really hope this fic is one you enjoy this yuletide! It's always nerve wracking writing for a new fandom as a gift for someone but I had a blast all the same, your prompt was amazing :)
> 
>  
> 
> _Fairy info_
> 
>  
> 
> Peelie - is a Shetland specific term (and maybe Orkney) for the fairy folk of the Isles, from description they appear to be more or less similar. Shetland tends to have more written on the trow than the peelie, but the trow would have made Jimmy's adventure a little more harrowing than I wanted to write.
> 
> Nuggle - a water horse specific to Shetland, it's known for being much kinder than other water horses and usually looked like Shetland pony with a wheel for a tail. Nuggles like to play pranks and are more likely to be moved to mercy than its fellow water horses, but will still drown anyone who attempts to ride them.
> 
> Other than that, none of the fairies here are specific subtypes.


End file.
